


Catch of the Vorn

by Rayearthmagic



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drift - Freeform, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, Overloads (Transformers), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spike Mods, Sticky Interfacing, Swiss army spike, Teasing, Valve Fingering, awkward moments, dratchet - Freeform, improper use of medical files, medic hands, multiple overloads, ratchet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayearthmagic/pseuds/Rayearthmagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when you catch the mech you've been crushing on is also crushing on you?  You jump him, of course!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caught Red-Handed

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my first fic, and who would have known it'd be a pwp piece? Heh! ^_^;  
> Special thanks to [SlimReaper](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper) for all the encouragement. This fic would have never seen the light of day if not for all the awesome support!

When Drift was relieved of his duties an hour early by an insomniac Red Alert, the swordsmech could not be happier. He knew Ratchet was on shift as well, and quickly made his way to the medibay to tease the handsome medic. It was a quiet night, and during his shift at the security unit, Drift had composed the perfect over-the-top spiritual one-liner to pester his favorite mech. Ratchet may be out of his league but he knew the right buttons to press to draw a reaction out of the fiery medic. 

Drift had always loved Ratchet, as far he could tell, ever since the day he woke up in his clinic in Rodion and first laid optics on him. He thought quite often about the kind words his savior had said to him. And even during his lonely days as Deadlock, he got by by thinking about that attractive medic in the Dead End. 

Over the vorns, Drift had thought that it was possible that he had glamorize his savior in his mind, and that there was no way that real Ratchet could be as incredible as fantasy Ratchet. But when they were finally reunited, Primus, was he proven wrong.

It was instant attraction all over again. 

Drift had walked into a noisy medbay with a malfunctioning arm shortly after arriving on Cybertron when he spotted him. Ratchet was shouting orders to his team, while efficiently clamping off his patient’s severed fuel lines and moving quickly from one gurney to the next. There had been an accident at one of the docks and the injured flooded the medical wards. It was chaos, but somehow the CMO had it all under control. Drift had been repaired by one of the other medics in the end and, all the while, he couldn’t take his optics off Ratchet. He was even more magnificent than he remembered. 

Being on the Lost Light with Ratchet had been an exercise in restraint. Drift had hinted his interest many times but was mostly brushed off by the CMO, who either didn't take him seriously or misunderstood his intentions. So he settled for friendship and amused himself by igniting the famous Hatchet temper, because any attention from Ratchet was good attention. It may not be the grand love he'd hoped for, but he always looked forward to the friendly banter. And tonight was no exception.

He paused outside of the medibay, his spark pulsing warmly with anticipation, as it always did prior to seeing Ratchet. The main room was dimly lit and quiet, with the only sounds coming from the medical equipment humming faintly besides the in-patients’ medberths. His feet were already guiding him to his handsome medic. Ratchet’s office was on the side facing the examination berths that lined the left wall, and his door was open. 

With a spring in his step, Drift poked his head inside the room, and what he witnessed nearly stalled his processor. Ratchet sat at his desk, gazing longingly at a hologram of  _Drift_ ? The swordsmech had never seen that gentle look on Ratchet’s face before, his optics soft and mouth tilted slightly upwards. If Drift found the medic handsome before, the tenderly smiling Ratchet absolutely took his breath away. 

Spark pounding frantically, Drift watched Ratchet trace his hologram from the arm down to his hip. Shivering, he swore he felt a phantom touch on his own plating. He was thankful for his stealth training for not giving himself away right there and then, and listened to Ratchet’s quiet musings.  _He wants to caress me for hours?_ Drift swallowed, his intake suddenly felt very dry. Then Ratchet’s words took a downturn.  _Not interested in him? Primus! Has he looked in a mirror lately?_ Determined to stop this harsh introspection and to prove how very attracted he was to the medic, Drift made a snarky comment to announce his presence.

A very startled medic stared back at him. Anxiously, Drift waited for Ratchet’s response, his processor calculating numerous possible scenarios how this could play out. Would he be shown out, pelted by wrenches? Or would Ratchet invite him in and caress him exactly like he did the hologram?

Unexpectedly, Ratchet's cheeks began taking a pinkish color, before he turned and muttered something about being busy. Drift's fuel pump skipped a beat.  _Oh, that's deliciously cute_ , he thought, biting his lower lip.  _So cute, I could eat him up_. The swordsmech realized that this was probably the only chance he was ever going to get with Ratchet. Well then. He was just going to have to make it damn good. 

Eagerly, Drift stepped over the threshold and locked the door.

 

*-*-*-*-*

 

The lights in the medbay dimmed down, as Ratchet moved to finish his double shift at his desk. The medibay was quiet like the rest of the Lost Light at this time of the night. His patients were resting, the tools were sterilized, inventory was done, the cupboards were restocked, even the floor was swept. There was finally nothing left to do. Tired and needing recharge, the CMO plopped down in his chair and surveyed his office. Boxes of spare parts piled up high to the right of his desk, waiting to be sorted. He  _could_ tackle the boxes. 

After idling for a few minutes, Ratchet pulled up Drift's medical records and tapped a few keys on the console for the hologram to flare into view above his desk. He admired the various parts of the speedster's frame. The graceful helm with the elegant finials, those beautiful optics, the wide shoulders, the sturdy chest plate, the delectable abdominal stripes, and those sinfully gorgeous hips.

He sighed audibly, cradling his chin in his hand, and ran a finger down Drift's hologram and lingered on the hips. "So beautiful. I could caress this curve for hours. But there is no way you'd be interested in an old grump like me."

"Is that how you examine your patients' files?"

The unexpected voice at the door almost made Ratchet jump out of his plating. And to his horror, Drift stood just inside the doorway watching him with wide optics. Both mechs stared at one another for a moment of stunned silence before the medic snapped the hologram off and turned around to fiddle in one of the boxes, shielding his face. “I’m busy, Drift.” He struggled to output his voice out with its usual briskness, but it came out as a murmur. He cleared his vocalizer, “You’ll have to come back another time.”  _Please, leave! This is so embarrassing! Frag it to the pit and back!  He was far too old to be caught  blushing! _

The medic rummaged blindly in the box, while internally berating himself for forgetting to shut the door. Drift must think he was an old pervert now.

Drift stepped fully into the small office and shut the door behind him. 

"Yes, Ratchet. I can see  _exactly_ how busy you are." Drift purred. "But wouldn't you rather touch the real thing? I know I would."

Temper finally flaring to life, Ratchet stood and whirled around to throw the ridiculously gorgeous mech out and to be left to die in peace, but was stunned silent when he found Drift removing his left scabbard and setting it on the guest chair. The Great Sword was already leaning against the door jam. "What... What are you doing?"

Drift unclipped the other and approached gracefully, every movement languid and sinuous, slowly lifting his over-bright gaze to Ratchet's. "Giving you unimpeded access to those curves you were admiring, of course." 

Unless he leaped over the barricade of boxes on  the right side of this desk, Ratchet was essentially trapped behind it. Scanning his small office for an alternate exit, he frantically looked to the door connecting to the corridor, but it too was blocked by boxes. “Quit being an aft!” This had to be a joke. There was no way a beautiful speedster like Drift would be interested in a clunky old ambulance like Ratchet. Surely, he was mocking him now.

Drift stalked closer and noticed his search for escape. “Hmm? Don’t even think about running.” Optics never leaving Ratchet’s heated face, the speedster’s sinfully beautiful mouth curved in a wicked smile. “If you run, I  will  chase you down. And when I do, mmm...” He circled around Ratchet until the medic was backed against his desk.

Ratchet fought back a shiver as the beautiful mech drew near. Those piercing optics unnerved him and did strange things to his spark. He brought a protective arm up to ward him off, only to immediately have his wrist captured in the warrior's hand.

“Tell me, Ratchet.” Drift leaned in close and whispered, “How long have you been thinking about touching me?” This close, Ratchet could feel the excitement and arousal in the swordsmech’s EM field, and also something warm that he could not name. His fans involuntarily clicked on in response, and the speedster suddenly cupped the back of the medic's neck and angled his helm down. Ratchet's gasp of surprise was muted by the kiss. 

It began slow and warm, like Drift was savoring the moment. Gently, the swordsmech pressed light kisses onto Ratchet’s lips and moved them slowly back and forth as if to memorize the medic’s texture. He kissed and nipped his lips until they tingled deliciously, until the medic gave up on thinking and just enjoyed the sweetness of the kiss. Unable to resist the first sensual glide of Drift 's glossa on his lips, Ratchet opened his mouth to deepen the kiss with a low moan.

They kissed until Ratchet lost track of time. His fans spun faster with every nip on his sensitive lips and with every touch of that teasing glossa on his own. He could hardly believe it --  _Drift_ was kissing him. And not just any ordinary kiss. It felt like he was being devoured. The thought made heat pool between his legs.

Drift took hold of Ratchet’s other hand and placed them both on his white chest and slowly guided them lower. The medic gasped when his palms were pressed fully onto the warm plate. He had forgotten that he had turned up the sensitivity in his hands earlier to feel the slight buzz of the hologram, and now full contact on that smooth armor felt so shockingly good he arched to close the gap between their frames

Drift nibbled his way to an audial and purred lowly, “Have you imagined touching me like this, Ratchet?” He dragged those trembling red fingers to skim over the enticing abdominal stripes before sliding them onto those sublime hips. “Because I've wanted you to touch me like this.”

A strangled moan escaped Ratchet’s vocalizer. He could hardly believe he was actually touching those alluring hips. Caught between burning shame and arousal, Ratchet kept his hands where the speedster had placed them despite his desire to pet them worshipfully.

Suddenly Drift wedged a knee between his legs and pushed between his thighs. Ratchet fell back from the motion and caught himself tilting his hips invitingly for the beautiful speedster. But before he could flatten them on the desk, Drift hooked a hand under his hip and brought his panel flush against his and gazed up to pin him with a hungry predatory look, his field molten with lust and hunger.

Ratchet felt his valve clench so hard, he moaned. His spike pushed against its housing. Drift nuzzled his neck cables, finding all his sensitive spots, and whispered, “How else have you thought of touching me? Hmm? Have you thought of me when you touched yourself?” Ratchet flushed even further and turned his helm away. “Because I have.”

Drift rocked a few times against his panel and kissed down his glass plate, over his spark, then stopped to swirl his glossa in the round indentation underneath. Ratchet tried not to moan too loudly when Drift hovered above his panel and licked his lips, “Open for me.”

 _Is this really happening? _ Ratchet thought dizzily. He was so aroused he could barely speak. His hands buzzed pleasurably with charge and the heat in his array was almost unbearable. How long had he dreamed about interfacing with Drift? Much too long, but never in any of his fantasies did Drift look like he was about to devour him. This had to be a dream. “No,” Ratchet rasped and watched the gorgeous smile turn positively feral.

The speedster blew on his heated panel, and Ratchet squirmed in the arms around his pelvis and brought a hand up to muffle the noises he made. Then Drift licked a long hot stroke over his spike cover, and it retracted so quickly he couldn’t override the command in time.

Drift purred, as his spike extended. “Good Ratchet. Now look at me.” Spark spinning wildly, Ratchet did as he was told, his hand covering his mouth and flushed cheeks. His spike bobbed and his valve tightened, desperate to be filled. He gasped when he felt Drift nuzzle the base of his spike and lifted an unsteady hand to caress those elegant finials, hoping to urge him on and to assure himself that this was really happening. _Please, don't stop. If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up just yet._

Optics never leaving Ratchet’s - oh that hungry look was going to be the end of him - Drift’s engine revved strongly sending vibrations up his spike, and his head fell back with a strangled sound. “Oh, _frag_!”

“Mmm, yes. We’ll get to that in a bit. But for now....” The dark promise was both threatening and thrilling.

He felt Drift curl a hand around his length and whined loudly as his optics flashed. Ratchet’s entire frame shuddered, and despite his vents working at full speed, he was still overheating. His spark felt like it would pop out of its casing

“Ratchet.” Drift dragged his nose up the side of his spike, biolights flashing erratically, signalling impending overload. “Look at me,” the swordsmech repeated. Groaning, Ratchet managed to lift his head, his frame quivered with effort. “I want you to watch me when I do this.”

“Can’t.” His voice was ragged and edged with static. “Won’t… Won’t last if I do.”

“I don’t want you to," the speedster answered with a smug grin. Ratchet whimpered as he watched Drift’s glossa flick out and swirl the tip of his spike before engulfing it in his warm mouth. That was all it took. His back arched as overload hit him hard, whiting out his optics and shorting his vocalizer while he yelled out Drift’s name. His frame shook as waves of built-up charge undulated powerfully through him and exploded out until the world went dark.

 

*-*-*-*-*

  
Consciousness came back to Ratchet after his processor clicked into its final phase of the reboot. Systems check reported that his fans were working at 95% capacity and his core temperature was very high. His most recent memories loaded into his neural net, and he wanted to groan aloud. He should be happy that he got an opportunity to live one of his fantasies with the gorgeous mech, but he felt completely mortified. He had overloaded so hard his processor rebooted. And now that Drift was done and got whatever it was he wanted, Ratchet was sure that the speedster would mock him for wanting him so much he couldn't even last.

Steeling himself behind his wall of grumpiness, Ratchet prepared to throw the other mech out of his office. With a command to bring one of his larger wrenches out of subspace on standby, he brought his optics back online and unexpectedly found Drift leaning over him.

His spark fluttered at the hungry look that still lit the mech's gorgeous face.

“I was wondering when you’d be coming back,” he purred close to his audial. “Because I'm not done with you yet.” His field flared hot and molten, radiating right through Ratchet's heated frame, making his valve tighten again.

Then he felt it -- the slick glide of Drift’s fingers inside him. His engine gave a loud roar as he realized that the speedster had been fingering him and revving him up while he was running the reboot sequence. But why? He got what he wanted.

The query was forgotten along with the wrench when Drift kissed up his throat and nibbled at his neck cables, finding the same sensitive spots he’d discovered earlier, while moving his fingers slowly in and out, in and out. Ratchet couldn’t help tilting his head back to give him more access to his neck, and groaned when he felt Drift’s thumb brush against his throbbing anterior node. _Damn, that felt so good!_

“I love how you look when you overload, Ratchet.” The fingers left his valve to circle the entrance and the little nub teasingly. "And the sounds you make." A lone finger dipped back in shallowly, stimulating that sensitive first row of calipers. “I could watch you all night.” The medic blushed at the thought of his longtime crush watching him overload, but at the same time he couldn’t help straining under the swordsmech, needing more.

His fuel lines were on fire and his spark felt like a star going supernova. Field bright with desire, Drift found his lips again and pushed his glossa into his mouth as his fingers slid back deeply into his valve, setting a synchronous rhythm.

Ratchet groaned when Drift broke away and kissed his way down his frame again. He peppered a few kisses on his windshield over his spark and continued down. When he was between his legs, he paused to admire Ratchet’s array and bit his lower lip, as if he was presented with a favored gelled energon candy.

Drift shifted his optics back up to meet Ratchet’s, the predatory look had the medic’s valve clench down eagerly on the fingers. _Oh, frag!_ " Yes, just like that, Ratchet.” The sliding of the fingers never stopped, lighting up the nodes one by one. “You're so hot inside. So tight.”

That voice was liquid seduction, amping up Ratchet’s charge and doing funny things to his spark. Where did Drift learned to talk like that? Ratchet trembled on the desk. His hands had found the edge somehow and gripped on tightly.

"Have you thought me kissing you down here, Ratchet?" The medic felt heated air on his thighs. "Yes? Well I'm here now. Where would you like it most? You’re going to have to tell me.” When Ratchet didn’t answer, Drift kissed the inside of his knee. "Here?"

Disbelief and pleasure stole his voice. Ratchet whispered, "No..." Ah, those finger were working magic inside, unrelenting in their maddening strokes. Thinking was impossible.

Drift nibbled higher and stopped mid-thigh. "Here?" He twisted the fingers inside to rub this particularly sensitive cluster of nodes on the front wall of his valve, making Ratchet cry out and rock his hips.

"No? Where then?"

Ratchet swallowed. "Higher," he rasped. His vents once again failing to cool him.

The beautiful mech kissed his way inside Ratchet's thigh, making sure to tease the sensitive circuitry in the transformation gaps, which flared to give him more access. He licked the hip joint located right next to his array, and the medic felt it tighten in anticipation as the fingers withdrew. Drift ex-vented some warm air over his sensitized folds and continued higher to kiss the red plating of his pelvis.

 _What...? Oh, are you slagging kidding me?_ Ratchet blinked in confusion and raised his head to protest, only to catch Drift's slag-eating expression.

"Not here either?" Drift licked a transformation seam right in the pelvic joint, optics alight with desire and mischief. "You're going to have to be more specific."

The fingers brushed in parallel along both sides of his valve, occasionally touching the anterior node. Ratchet slapped a hand on the desk and ex-vented harshly. It was just not enough. "Please."

The gorgeous mech purred against his plating, sounding much too cocky. "Please what, Ratchet?"

Ratchet desperately squirmed on the desk. "Please," he choked again. The fingers circled the rim twice before dipping back in. "My.. Ahh!"

"I'm listening," that same liquid voice said.

 _Enough with the teasing already!_ Ratchet gritted his teeth and scrubbed his face with a hand he'd loosen from its death-grip on the edge of the desk. His frame trembled and strained to pull that elusive finger in deeper where he really needed it. _Fragging get on with it!_

"I could do this all night, you know." The desk chair rolled closer, and Drift settled down on it, ready for a nice long bout of teasing. The hands then glided along his inner thighs, lifted Ratchet's hips to cup his aft. The thumbs caressed his rim and gently pulled the sides apart. Ratchet moaned and eagerly waited for the onslaught, but Drift kept on purring against his hip plating, while his damn thumbs did nothing about this fragging rampant charge coursing in his lines. "Mmm, would you like that, Ratchet?" One of the thumbs slid in. "That I kept you on the edge all night long?" The second thumb joined the first one and they widened his valve entrance slowly, then slagging retreated to glide along the outer rim again.

In a flare of temper, Ratchet yanked Drift by the helm finials and pushed him between his legs. Static-laced noises broke out from Ratchet's vocalizer, when Drift finally licked his throbbing anterior node.

The speedster placed Ratchet's feet on the arm rests and hooked a hand back under his aft. Ratchet sobbed and trembled as Drift swirled his slick glossa around the sensitive nub and suckled on it gently.

A soft click sounded in the office, and Drift drew a deep in-vent, before sweeping his glossa inside Ratchet's valve, making him cry out and arch his back.

The glossa wiggled while it dipped in deep, enticing already swollen nodes to flare brighter, then it slid in and out mimicking the act of interfacing. Ratchet forgot about holding back his voice and surrendered to the exquisite sensations. Charge skyrocketed to the brink of overload, static crackling all over his frame,

Drift's labored venting and shivering groaning broke through Ratchet's fog of bliss. The swordsmech's field flickered irregularly with heat and desperation. Ratchet's vents hitched when he looked down at the speedster, who wore an expression of pleasure while one of his hands moved outside of his line of sight, between Drift's legs. But there was no mistaking the pumping motion.

“D-Drift, are you...?” Speaking was nearly an impossible chore, but he had to know. Was Drift getting so revved up that he was self-servicing?

Ratchet’s memory bank replayed what the speedster had said earlier. _Have you thought of me when you touched yourself? Because I have._ The erotic thought plunged Ratchet straight into red zone close to overload.  Oh, frag! He shook uncontrollably against the frenetic heat, his calipers twitching rebelliously.

Drift slid his glossa out and have him a hazy unfocused look. “Ratchet... Oh, Ratchet, you’re so hot… I can’t," he breathed and moaned directly on the sensitive external nub, his arm movement quickening. The vibrations hit the medic like a shock of electricity, his valve calipers contracting with signs of pre-overload.

As tantalizing as watching the sexy swordsmech touch himself sounded, a worry sprang to Ratchet's processor. He caressed the graceful helm with a trembling hand. "D-Drift, you made me beg..." Hiss. "You better not fragging overload without being inside me."

Drift paused. And when he finally looked at Ratchet again, the hungry look was back in his optics but tempered by... awe? He flashed a semi-cocky grin and said, "Not if you come for me first."

Drift slid his glossa back into Ratchet's valve and undulated it swiftly. Fingers found the slick rim and parted them for deeper access. His nasal ridge bumped against his external node.

Ratchet could not fight it even if he wanted to. His calipers cycled down helplessly against the tantalizing glossa before locking up as overload pulsed through his frame and set his lines on fire. Helm thrown back, Ratchet statically cried out Drift's name as waves of energy discharged outward.

Drift kissed his way up his frame, stopping to drop a kiss on the middle of his windshield once more before nibbling Ratchet's jaw. The medic held Drift's cheeks between his hands and brought him up for a kiss. He tasted his own lubricant from Drift’s glossa and sucked on it, enticing a growl from the swordsmech engine.

Ratchet groaned, voice heavily staticy, when he felt Drift's hot length pressed against his thigh and angled his hips to receive him.

"In me, Drift. Now. "

Ratchet dropped his helm back against the desk surface, mouth open, when the head of Drift's spike slipped in, stretching him delightfully. Then The speedster surprised him by gathering him in his arms like Ratchet was precious, hands cradling the nape of his helm and his back, crest to chevron, before slipping all the way in. Drift moaned low and tremulously. It was the most erotic sound Ratchet had ever heard in his functioning. And he hoped to hear it over and over again.

The beautiful mech trembled over Ratchet and pressed quivering kisses to the medic's mouth and cheeks.

Ratchet's calipers fluttered around the heavy spike and he groaned into the kisses as Drift finally began to move slowly, giving him time to recover. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be filled and stretched out.

Still within the warm embrace, Ratchet slid his hands from Drift's neck down to the chest plate and explored the grooves with his fingertips. He then slid them down his flank and over those delectable abdominal stripes and heard the younger mech’s sharp in-vent.

"You like that, Drift?" He rubbed each stripe lightly, knowing how many sensors hid there, and got a hiss as answer. Pleased by Drift’s flailing control, he glided his hands on those round glossy hips. "I could caress this curve for hours, you know," he repeated the phrase he was caught saying that started this whole interlude.

Drift suddenly ground into Ratchet, rubbing his pelvic plating over the medic’s slippery lubricant-coated anterior node and quickened the pace. Ratchet's optics flared with the abrupt onslaught of charge and his lines positively throbbed with blind pleasure.

"Ratchet..." Drift panted breathlessly beside his audials, field saturated with hunger, reverence, and affection. "Oh, Ratchet, you feel so good." He thrust in deep and touched Ratchet's ceiling nodes, making the medic cry out incoherently. "So hot."

The older mech let go of those curvaceous hips and found purchase on the swordsmech’s upper dorsal plates. In the same motion, he hooked his legs around Drift’s waist, curving himself around the younger mech.

Drift panted and grunted above Ratchet, engine roaring and fans blasting out hot air. He shook with effort to keep control but was losing the battle. His biolights flashed erratically and his field pulsed with blazing need and heat. Ratchet knew he wouldn’t last much longer now. Needing to see just how beautiful Drift would look in the throes of overload, Ratchet snapped his hips up and met him for every downward drive. The sweet swordsmech whimpered before searing the medic a near-white gaze. Ratchet's fans stuttered as he watched him take a red hand and guided the fingers into that beautiful mouth.

Sensitivity still adjusted to the highest setting, electrifying heat snapped from his fingertips and threatened to overwhelm the medic. Drift sucked on each finger carefully, swirling his glossa over and over the sensitive fingertips, before drawing two entirely into his hot mouth. He pulled them in and out.

Ratchet’s entire frame shook as he let out a strangled cry. Drift ran his other hand down his side and under Ratchet's aft. He pulled him close and drove his spike into Ratchet hard, hitting the ceiling node over and over again. Static and electric arcs dances between them. The medic felt Drift expand within him, and overload hit him like lightning strike.

"Ratchet... Ratchet!" The speedster cried frantically above him. Drift sounded even better than any of his fantasies, Ratchet thought fleetingly while incredible waves of current pulsed through his lines and clutched his partner closer. “I love you,” Drift moaned breathlessly, reciprocating the hug.

 

*-*-*-*-*

 

Ratchet’s fans roared along with Drift’s, as they lay unmoving on top of his desk. The medic floated between bliss and bewilderment. He and Drift -- whom he’d been secretly yearning for since they joined the Lost Light -- have interfaced. Ratchet had some difficulty consolidating that fact with reality and rescanned some of his memory files to be sure he wasn’t glitching.

Never had he dared to hope that Drift would be interested. How could he? Drift was stunningly gorgeous and Ratchet was a clunky old ambulance. The speedster could basically have anyone. Surely he would have picked someone on par with his beauty. And yet here he was, in Ratchet’s arms, engine humming contentedly while his systems relaxed from the overload, field serene and warm.

Content and satisfied, Ratchet’s hands caressed the back of Drift’s helm and back, where they hadn’t moved since their last overload. Drift snuggled closer into Ratchet’s collar then froze. Dread and worry bled into his field as he slowly withdrew it and extracted himself from the embrace.

 _Oh no, you don't!_ Ratchet tightened his arms around the speedster and felt surprise flare in Drift’s EM field. The younger mech stayed stiff and unmoving. For a while, only the sounds of their fans cycling and the pinging of cooling metal could be heard in the small office.

Contentment finally glowed in Drift’s field and he relaxed back into the cuddle. “Ratchet, are you ok?” Drift’s breath was warm on his neck.

Ratchet finally let him go to sit up. “Never better.” Pleasure tingled in his struts as Drift pulled out and he stifled a groan. Bringing two soft cloths from subspace, he gave one to his lover before wiping up the mess of fluids and lubricant from his plating. His pelvic plating still buzzed pleasantly and his valve twitched with the last remnants of charge.

“What time does your shift end, Ratch?” Drift cleaned up his very pretty spike and tucked it back in its housing, while Ratchet sneaked a peek at it. Images of future naughty encounters floated through the medic’s neural net.

Ratchet shifted his gaze away in time to not be caught staring. “It ended an hour ago.” His plating was still a bit sticky and will probably crust over, but this was the best he could do before hitting the wash racks.

He heard Drift sputter and went quiet for half a second, probably to check his internal clock, before shifting his stunned gaze back to Ratchet’s.

Unable to contain his mirth, Ratchet smirked, which seemed to widen the swordsmech's optics even more, and added, “First Aid arrived on time for duty and he may have had an idea of what was happening in here, because he locked the office from the outside and we’ll have to leave by the hallway door.”

First Aid had probably verified who was in the office with Ratchet with a simple signature scan before giving them privacy. The busybody. And judging from the thumbs up and smiley emoji-laden text message he got from his apprentice, First Aid did not mind arriving to an unattended medbay.  Ratchet suspected that he was even very pleased by the turn in events. After all, the younger medic had been subtlety, then not so subtlety, suggested that Ratchet “blow off some steam”. He'd told the CMO repeatedly that he was working too hard and needed a break. Even suggested that he go on a date with a certain handsome young warrior. Even with the extra duties for being nosy did not deter Aid from expressing his concerns about Ratchet’s mental well-being.

Ratchet watched Drift retrieve one of his shorter swords and clip it back over a gorgeous hip, and itched to get his hands back on those red curves. But first he had to make sure of one thing. “Did you mean it?”

Drift made a show of reaching for his other scabbard and answered with a noncommittal hum.

“You know what I'm talking about, Drift.” Impatient but finding the suddenly-shy pretty speedster incredibly endearing, Ratchet rounded his desk and placed a hand over Drift’s, stopping him mid-motion of guiding the scabbard into place. “You said you love me. Is that true?”

Drift’s blush was absolutely adorable. “Um, yeah?” He stared off towards the left wall, unable to meet Ratchet’s gaze.

“Huh, me too.”

Drift’s helm pivoted quickly back to face Ratchet, optics wide again, shapely mouth slightly open. It was amusing to see Drift off-kilter. He had been so in control since the moment he shut the door to his office. Hmm, Ratchet wondered what Drift would look like in sweet surrender. His spike pressurize within its housing at the thought.

“Really?” Drift’s smile blinded the medic. Slag, the kid was gorgeous.

Ratchet clipped the scabbard into place and leaned in close to a finial. With a wolfish smile that Drift couldn't see, he purred, “Why don't you come back to my place and I'll show you how much.”


	2. Caught Off Guard

Awe pulsed through his lines as Drift stole a few glances at Ratchet while they walked to the medic’s habsuite after their unbelievable interlude in the medbay office.  He could hardly believe it – the mech of his dreams returned his feelings.  

Drift wanted to shout his joy for everyone to hear.  Log onto the ship’s intercom and announce the fantastic news to the whole crew.  Ultra Magnus would probably give him a citation for improper use of the vessel’s communications system _and_ Ratchet might even beat him over the helm with a wrench for embarrassing him.  Both were sensible and valid reasons that kept him from using the intercom box in the corridor.  He wasn't sure how he did it, but somehow, he managed to contain his vibrating excitement and stayed quiet, in spite of being utterly convinced that such news needed to be shared with everyone.

It was still early in the cycle and the corridors were relatively empty. They passed Brainstorm and Perceptor, who were on their way to the common room for morning energon.  Drift gave them a friendly wave, unable to hide his good mood, but they didn't return his greeting as their attention was drawn to the mech beside him.  

Drift shrugged, unoffended by the involuntary snub.  Who could blame them?  Ratchet had a commanding presence that just drew the optic.  How many times had he himself been mesmerized by the incredible medic and noticed no one else around him?  Drift had lost count after twelve.

Ahead of them, Ratchet’s door came into view.  The swordsmech felt his spark skip a beat before whirling madly behind his chest plate. He glanced again towards the handsome medic and what he saw stalled his fans.  Instead of his signature scowl, Ratchet wore the same expression as he did in the office when he was viewing Drift’s medical file.  

No wonder the science duo stared.

Ratchet was stunningly beautiful with that slight upward tilt on his lips and the soft light in his optics.

_He_ put that smile on Ratchet’s face, Drift realized in astonishment.  Could this day get any better?

Fancifully, he replayed the memory file of Ratchet admitting that he loved him too.  Granted, he didn't say those exact words, but the meaning was there and that was all that mattered, right?  His grin widened as the words flitted through his processor. “Huh.  Me, too.”  It was just so perfectly Ratchet.

Suddenly, the replaying of snippets went awry and multiple clippings queued in his neuralnet.  The first one showed Ratchet’s stunned expression before Drift lowered his helm to capture his lips in a gentle kiss.  Belatedly, he realized that the file was not just an image clip but included sensory data, as well.   

His spark pounded in his chest in time with the replay.  His lips tingled at the memory of that first electrifying contact.  It was so sweet and delightful.  And such a powerful aphrodisiac.  He had never wanted the kiss to end.

The second clip replayed his first taste of Ratchet when he swirled his glossa on his thick spike and hearing him scream his name in overload.  To his dismay, this file also contained sensory input, and before he could stop the replay, the sweet taste of Ratchet’s transfluid filled his mouth.  

Suddenly hot, Drift overrode the command for his fans to click on and nearly moaned out loud after opening the next file.  He hastily cut it after just a glimpse.  It was the one of Ratchet overloading around his spike.  It was, by far, the hottest thing he had ever experienced, better than any fantasy.  The way his valve rippled around him was so indescribably delicious.

And now as they approached Ratchet’s habsuite, he itched for a second taste.  Watching Ratchet coming undone under his hands was just positively addictive, something he was sure that he'd never get tired of seeing.  And he definitely wouldn’t mind kissing that attractive spike again.  Maybe this time, he’d even take him fully into his mouth, and only when Ratchet was a begging mess would he let him overload.  Better yet, he could ride Ratchet until all he remembered was Drift’s name.  

Blinking a few times, Drift wondered what brought that on.  He had never once felt the need for a spike before.  Not since Rodion, and that had been purely out of necessity.  Having had the opportunity to live a life away from his past as a buymech, he had kept his valve cover firmly closed.  After vorns of abusing it, he had simply lost the taste for it.

But now, here with Ratchet, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.  Maybe it’d be different with Ratchet, maybe it’d even be enjoyable.  His valve cycled actively at the thought of it, just as it had back in the office, hinting that he still had his skills from way back then, from another life.  He _could_ use them on Ratchet…  Watch him overload and the delight brightening his face when he realized what kind of lover Drift was.  Licking his lips and optics caressing every plane on the medic’s attractive backside, he just knew that making Ratchet overload was going to be his new favorite pastime.

At the door, the swordsmech wrapped his arms around Ratchet’s strong waist from behind while the medic inputted his access code.  He hummed approvingly when Drift pressed soft open-mouthed kisses on the back of his neck and along the ridge of his audials.  The speedster blew warm air onto his jaw, enjoying the way the older mech shivered.  

The door hissed open and Ratchet pulled him inside by the collar assembly.  Drift spun them to pin him against the door once it closed.  He kissed the medic hungrily on the mouth.  Thrilled that Ratchet’s glossa glided along his in a sensual dance that sent more heat pooling between his thighs.  He groaned when his bottom lip was nipped and broke away to graze along his medic's strong jaw.

Ratchet’s cooling fans clicked on, a sound that delighted Drift to no end.  He found the main fuel line and bit it lightly before soothing it with a lick and a wet kiss.  Shuddering, Ratchet's hands shifted from the speedster's collar to his chestplate before continuing behind to cup his aft and pulling him firmly against the red pelvic armor.

Hissing at the delicious friction, Drift ground his panel against Ratchet’s, enjoying the way those talented hands squeezed and caressed his aft.  

“You are so beautiful,” Ratchet murmured.  “I like this look on you.”

Drift onlined optics he didn't remember shutting off, in time to see Ratchet’s gaze take on wicked gleam.  Fans stuttering, he half-wondered if Ratchet had waited for Drift’s optics to meet his before giving him that hungry look.   “You caught me off guard back there.  Now it's my turn to play.”  

Whatever witty protest Drift’s processor had compiled died in his vocalizer as one of the hands wandered up to the junction where his aft swelled and dipped clever fingers between the mounds into a transformation seam.  The speedster cried out in stunned pleasure as his valve contracted down on nothing.

Sweet Cybertron!  What was that?  When did he have such a sensitive bundle of sensors there?

The hand on his aft glided outwards to his hip in slow strokes, while the other delicately traced up his spinal strut.  Deft fingers lightly tapped at one of the scabbards on this side and at the Great Sword, and Drift promptly released both into Ratchet’s hands and unclipped the third sword.

Leaning the heavy weapons against the wall, Ratchet pulled Drift back into a searing kiss, hands roaming over his hips and back.  Drift cupped the back of his neck and returned the kiss with the fever that burned in his spark.

The hand on his back traveled up to caress the side ridges of his helm.  Drift let his own hands explore Ratchet’s chest plate and the seams along his windshield, thrilled to the core when he heard the older mech groan.

_Yes, Ratchet, let me make it good for you._  Drift bent to find that sweet spot on his jaw again when those clever hands shifted. One of them gently smoothed a finial and the other traced his spike panel in slow circles.

Gasping at the unexpected sensations, Drift ducked his helm and curled forward onto Ratchet, uncertain whether he wanted to keen or to purr.  The truth was he loved to have his finials caressed gently, but not many of his lovers ever had much of a chance once Drift had them in his grasp.  Most of them were just swept them away by the ecstasy Drift could wring out of them.  But now, here with Ratchet’s fingers brushing teasingly on the point, his processor just slowed down and encouraged him to feel more, to take more.

“Open for me, love?”  Ratchet whispered, his field saturated with lust and affection.  “Show me that pretty spike.”  He rubbed the finial flare between two fingers, and his panel slid away, unable to resist such persuasion.

His engine gave a loud roar as his spike extended into Ratchet’s warm hand, cooling fans clicked on at top speed.  Ratchet didn't pump him as he had anticipated, instead he admired it reverently.  Feeling uncharacteristically shy, Drift ducked his helm to hide the blush he felt blooming on his face.  What was happening to him?  He'd never been bashful before.  If anything, he was shamelessly sensual, having tried almost everything in the berth after vorns of living on the streets.

He watched Ratchet’s fingers travel down Drift’s frame, sliding coyly into joints, his spike twitching in his hand.  Spark whirling madly in his chest, Drift watched red fingers trace his abdominal stripes and dip lower.

“Such a pretty spike,” Ratchet murmured by his audial.  

Intake suddenly dry, Drift could do nothing but tremble while Ratchet held him between his legs and drew patterns on his length.  He inhaled sharply and held onto his partner’s pauldrons when that warm hand wrapped firmly around him and smoothed down to the base.

“I love how you feel in my hand, Drift,” Ratchet undulated his fingers along his length and opened his palm.  “Hot and pulsing.  I love how you twitch when I hold you like this.”  Leaning closer, Ratchet whispered breathlessly, “So thick and so hard.”  

Drift almost keened at that voice.  It was the same tone he'd imagine Ratchet using in his fantasies.  “These ridges felt so good inside me.”  Two fingers traced them one by one, from the base to the head.  

Panting and straining against Ratchet, Drift watched him follow the two lines of biolights on his spike. “Tell me, Drift, have you fantasized about me touching you like this?”

He pushed up reflexively into the loose grip and whined at the lack of friction. “Y-yes, Ratchet.”  Was that his voice?  Drift had never heard it edged with static before, having always been the one to drive his partners mad with lust.  With that, he briefly remembered that he was supposed to be making this good for Ratchet and not the other way around, but the handsome medic gripped him firmly again, and his frame redirected all awareness to the sensations on his spike.

Drift held onto a white shoulder and leaned back as Ratchet’s hand slid down to the base of his length and slowly made its way back up to run a thumb across the sensitive head, fingers rubbing the thicker top ridge underneath.

Ratchet shifted a palm to the small of his back and drew Drift closer to rumble in his audial.  “Is this how you touched yourself back in the office?”  He nibbled the speedster's elegant side vent and slid his loose grip up and down the striped length. “It looked really hot, Drift.  And you'll have to show me again because I couldn't see from my angle on the desk.”

Drift squirmed against Ratchet, unable to get the friction he so desperately needed.  Never before had he ever been so revved up.  And Ratchet talking like that was setting fire to his lines.  He tried to thrust into that warm encircling hand, but was effortlessly held in place by the medic’s unyielding arm.

The shoulder beneath Drift’s hand rose and dropped in a shrug, bringing his attention to it.  “I want you to put your hand over mine and show me how you touch yourself.”

Fans stuttering, Drift ventured a look at his new lover and whimpered as his calipers cycled down at the hungry gleam in Ratchet’s optics and the smirk on his lips.  When he didn't move, Ratchet guided the dark hand from his shoulder to his painfully pressurized spike.  “Don't be shy, Drift.  You already know I fantasized about you.”  

Primus help him.  Ratchet began to stroke his spike slowly, with Drift’s hand resting lightly on top of his.  He inhaled harshly and rolled his hips.  Oh, it felt amazing.  Ratchet’s molten hot field blanketed him with his lust and excitement, pushing him closer to overload.   _Yes, just like that._  Oh, how did he know how to apply the perfect amount of pressure and rhythm?  Hngg, just a bit more.

Then Ratchet slacked his hold. _No, no, no!  Don't stop now!_

Drift’s hand clamped down on Ratchet’s and began to thrust into their grasp, loving the way his medic grunted.  Charge crackling from his spike to their layered hands, Drift cast a quick glance at his love.  

Those optics that were full of mischievous intent earlier were now unfocused and half shuttered.  The sight made his spark spin faster and overheat his already overtaxed systems.  He helplessly watched Ratchet tremulously lean forward and whisper, “Yes, Drift. Just like that.”  The older mech let out a breathless moan in _that_ tone.  “Oh, your spike feels so nice in my hand.”  Primus, was Ratchet wringing pleasure from his hands?

Drift couldn't stop.  His engine hitched, his spark thudded deafeningly in his audials.  One last decadent stroke of their hands, and Drift arched against the strong arm that held him and wailed Ratchet’s name as overload rushed through him.  Charge purged from his frame in dazzling waves.  Dimly, he felt light kisses peppered on his face. “Oh, yes.  So beautiful,” the older mech murmured.

When his legs gave out, the medic swept him in his arms and crossed the room.  Drift’s optics came back online when Ratchet deposited him gently on his berth and settled against his side.  Dazedly, he realized that this was the first time he has been handled with such tender care.  And he wanted to show this kind of attention to Ratchet.

Drift touched Ratchet’s softly smiling face.  Oh, how he loved his medic.  He would show him just how much now.  He would give Ratchet so much pleasure he wouldn’t be able to move from the berth.  He would tend to his every need, give him as many overloads as he wanted.  

Smiling back, Drift pulled Ratchet’s helm down.  His spark skipped a beat when Ratchet closed his optics right before their lips met.  The contact made his vents stutter and hold onto Ratchet tighter.  

They’ve kissed before, how could it still feel like the first time?  No one else’s kiss had ever felt like this, sensual, enticing, and arousing.  His lips tingled with electricity, resonating with the throbbing of his anterior node.  All his past intimate encounters faded to the palest shade of gray.  Part of him still couldn’t believe this was happening.  Ratchet kissing him gently and tenderly only happened in his dreams.

He let his hand wander down Ratchet’s side, feeling the smooth texture of his plating, fingers flirting with transformation seams along his forearm.  Drift buried his face into Ratchet’s neck as his digits danced lower to explore the red pelvic plating.  Primus, he smelled good.   He inhaled more of the clean scent, unable to get enough.  Everything about Ratchet was utterly addictive.

He kissed the neck cabling, stopping to nibble and lick at a particularly responsive spot that was becoming his favorite.  Ratchet’s shudder vibrated through the speedster.  He just loved it when he pulled these reactions from his fiery medic.  Like when he took his spike in his mouth.  Damn, he didn't expect Ratchet to overload instantaneously but that was beyond hot.  He wanted to do that again.  Now.  And this time, he'd swallow his spike into his intake. Just thinking about it made Drift’s mouth water.  

However what happened next caught him completely off guard.  One moment he was dragging a hand to Ratchet’s modesty panel, fully intent on teasing it open, and the next thing he knew he was arching back in surprise as a warm finger circled his bared valve.  The hungry gleam in Ratchet’s optics had him gripping the medic’s hip tightly as his fans clicked back on.  When had his valve cover opened?

That tantalizing finger traced his rim slowly, muddling his processor as it sporadically dipped closer to his valve but never actually slipping in.  Dazedly, he noted how much his frame loved this.  His calipers tightened as if eager to clench around a hot spike.  Drift helplessly gripped the berth’s plush sheets with his other hand and buried his face in Ratchet's broad windshield as the sensations swirled dizzily through him.  He whimpered softly, canting his hips invitingly as the fingers continued to spread the lubricant on his array.  Above him, Ratchet’s fans cycled faster.  The sound reminded Drift of his purpose, and he slid an unsteady hand back onto Ratchet’s scorching panel, palming it.  

The touch on his valve faltered as intoxicating waves of arousal and desire rolled through their mingling energy fields.  He could feel Ratchet struggle to regain control, but Drift traced a nimble finger along the wet and slippery seam, and his panel snapped open audibly.

His hand was promptly filled by the handsome medic’s hot spike.  Loving the way it pulsed excitedly into the contact and how Ratchet hissed when Drift closed his fingers firmly around the swollen length, he committed every impression to memory.  Ratchet’s spike was heavy.  Its girth was thicker than average, perfect for stretching a mech wide.  Drift’s intake was suddenly very dry.  Desire overriding fear, he found that he couldn’t wait to slide it in his valve.

His hand slid down to the base of the spike while he watched Ratchet twitch.  Smiling a predatory grin that scrambled the medic’s energy field, Drift pumped his spike leisurely and stopped at the tip to apply a slight twist, loving the way Ratchet hissed in his audial and how his spike felt in his grasp.

Drift had planned to push Ratchet onto his back and swallow that hot length down after a few more strokes, but those red fingers stopped circling the rim of his valve and pushed in.  All he could do was squirm on the berth and gasp brokenly as Ratchet teased the stunningly avid first row of nodes.  He heard Ratchet growl lowly beside his audial.  “Do you know how many times I've fingered myself imagining it was you?”  

A whine escaped his vocalizer as images of Ratchet self-servicing and moaning Drift’s name conjured up in his mind  Oh, sweet Primus...  He strained against his medic and helplessly rocked his hips to draw the fingers deeper.  

Ratchet slid in further, thumb sweeping over Drift’s anterior node.  Mouth open, he tilted his helm back and arched his entire length against his partner.  Every part of his frame that touched Ratchet screamed with delight.  Static electricity danced beneath his plating, and it just felt too good.  He squirmed, trying to get even closer.

Ratchet kissed and licked his exposed neck cabling, sending delectable twinges down the speedster’s spinal strut.  Rising above him, he pressed a few pecks on the younger mech's open mouth, before sliding his glossa in, sealing their lips together.

All the while, those fingers rhythmically pushed in and out in a maddening pace that made Drift’s engine rev and his frame twist for more of the exquisite sensation.  Who would have thought it would feel like this?  Optics shut, he rocked his hips in time with the fingers while trying to clumsily kiss Ratchet back.

Ratchet found a particularly sensitive cluster of nodes on the front wall of his valve and curled his fingers, applying pressure forward.  Letting out a rough croak, Drift held onto his the broad shoulder as the delicious sensations rolled over him.  “Oh, Ratchet…,” he murmured against his lips. “What are you doing to my valve?”  Never had it ever felt so good.  So this was how it felt when he teased that same spot in his past lovers to bring them screaming into overload.   

Every sweep of Ratchet’s fingers brushed on just the right spot with just the right pressure. It was like he knew where all his favorite nodes were.  “How does it feel so good?”  And a thought occurred to him:  The hologram.  Had Ratchet spent time studying his frame and memorized all his sweet spots?

Before he could follow that train of thought, his valve protested, rather unhappily, for the sudden lack of movement.  Ratchet had stilled his fingers and watched him with a curious expression.  Confusion flickered in his field, then shocked comprehension, and finally empathy and tenderness.  “Oh sweet Drift, this is only the beginning.”

The speedster found his mouth claimed by his medic again, and his optics instinctively shuttered close.  This time, the kiss was soft and infinitely sweet.  Ratchet’s lips smoothed over his gently and nibbled lightly on his lower lip with such unequivocal affection that he was sure he had melted his struts.  Ratchet kissed the line of his jaw and nuzzled his neck cabling.  “Let me take care of you.”

“No, Ratchet.”  Drift cradled Ratchet’s cheek with a hand, bringing him back to face him, and smiled.  “ _I’m_ supposed to be taking care of you, showing you -” Ratchet’s lips touched his again, cutting him off, jumbling his thoughts.

“How about you just enjoy this one and you can have me any way you want in the next round?  Hmm?”  Ratchet’s mouth had traveled back to his neck and the vibrations of his voice on a remarkably sensitive spot made the swordsmech’s vents stutter.  

“Nhhg, Ratchet….”  It was hard to argue when his valve just wanted to surrender to the sensations.  Just a little longer, he thought to himself, then he'd take over again.  Drift sighed blissfully when Ratchet touched his lips again.  He had wanted to say how much he loved what they were doing together but all he could manage was a rasping wheeze when the finger started gliding in and out again and teasing more hidden nodes he wasn’t aware of having.

Humming softly, Ratchet broke the kiss and leaned over him.  Optics onlining just enough to take in his partner's face, Drift found Ratchet smiling tenderly down at him. Happiness radiated through his field and reflected in the medic’s optics.  “Oh, Drift. You are just as beautiful as I have always imagine you'd be.”  

Unable to reciprocate with a coherent answer, Drift shut his optics and whimpered when a second finger joined the first one in his valve.  It amazed him that they stretched him so enticingly.  His calipers gripped the digits eagerly and fluttered excitedly as charge cycled through the delicate lining.  

Static-laced cries escaped his vocalizer in time with the fingers‘ motions as he twisted under his medic’s heated frame.  It felt so amazingly good.  He was so wet, and those fingers slid in so perfectly.  His hands flailed on the berth sheets, seeking something to hold onto, finally anchoring his left hand to the headboard while his hips rocked with the rhythm.

Hearing Ratchet groan along with him was better than any music Drift had ever heard. He sounded like he was enjoying this as much as the speedster did.  And realisation broke through his bliss-dazed mind.  How could he had forgotten about the medic hands?

Drift cycled down experimentally on the teasing fingers, and Ratchet quivered. Snapping his optics back on, he watched Ratchet’s unfocused expression.  His teeth bit his smiling bottom lip, betraying just how much he was enjoying this.

Drift pulsed around the fingers and watched Ratchet's optics flare brightly before shutting off.  He bit his lips to prevent the low sigh from escaping.

_Oh yeah…_  Drift purred.  How sexy was that?  

Ravenous hunger reared its head, and it wanted Ratchet on a serving platter.  Smiling to himself in a grin that showed his fangs, Drift rocked his hips to suck the fingers back in, appreciating the way Ratchet’s powerful engine stuttered.

His hand let go of the headboard to encircle the medic's wrist, and on the next inward stroke, Drift rolled his calipers around those responsive medic fingers, loving Ratchet’s broken gasps.  

He held the hand still and continued to pulse and flutter his pliant calipers on those fine-tuned digits, occasionally pulling them out to swirl around his anterior node before dipping the tips back and letting his valve work them back in.

Watching Ratchet’s pleasure was more provocative than anything he had ever imagined.  Just Ratchet's biolights flickering erratically in an erotic light show made his own charge leap, pushing him towards overload.  

The fingers suddenly twisted inside him, applying pressure on that cluster of nodes on the front wall of his valve again.  Before he could retaliate by cycling the 7th and 8th row of calipers down on the fingertips, Ratchet circled his thumb around his slippery anterior node, and all he could do was pant shallowly, pelvis lifting off the berth.

The sliding fingers quickened the pace, hitting that cluster of nodes over and over again.  Oh Primus, don't stop.  He let go of his wrist and squirmed beneath his medic, surrendering to the swelling pleasure.

It felt so good.  Better than anything he’d ever felt.  Yes, yes just a little more…  Maybe with Ratchet, he’d actually be able to overload for the first time from his valve.  Hope bloomed in his spark as his calipers clenched. His vents roared deafeningly, unable to dispel the heat.

Suddenly Ratchet’s joints locked.   Hearing his stuttered groan, Drift onlined his optics in time to watch him tip over, relishing the way Ratchet statically cried out his name while his biolights flashed blindingly bright.  Electric arcs crackled and leapt between them sending luscious shivers through his frame.

Drift kissed Ratchet’s handsome face and mewled and when he pulled his fingers out, slightly disappointed, but overall happy.  He was sure he was going to overload back there.  While Ratchet was still lax, he pushed him into his back and straddled him.

That shapely mouth tilted in a blissful smile while his optics remained off and his frame void of tension. Primus, how he loved this look on him!  “Hng, Drift, we gotta do that again.”

“Another time, Ratch.  Next round is mine, and I want to get up close and personal with that spike of yours.”  Licking his lips, the swordsmech watched Ratchet’s optics widened in response to his hungry expression.  As much as he loved being fingered by his medic, Drift really looked forward to riding that thick spike.


	3. Catch My Drift

Drift had never been much of a valve mech, not since leaving Rodion but something was different with Ratchet.  Ever since he laid optics on that thick length, he couldn't stop thinking about slipping it into his valve.  His array twitched in happy agreement.  And now, knowing that Ratchet could make his valve feel so good with just his fingers, he suspected that his spike would probably feel even more amazing.

Optics flaring, the speedster pushed the red sensor-packed hand to the medic’s own mouth and felt him tremble from helm to toe as he swirled his glossa around the sensitive tips.  “Yes, Ratchet, clean that up.” Bending forward, Drift purred into his neck cabling, inhaling his partner’s ozone-laced scent.  It was absolutely intoxicating.  “Primus, you’re so sexy...”

The powerful engine beneath him revved loudly, drawing his attention.  “And you taste so good.”  Glancing down, he shivered when he caught Ratchet languorously flicking his glossa out to lick off some Drift’s lubricant from his fingers and watching him with a wolfish grin.  “Do you like my spike, Drift?” Ratchet’s other hand wrapped around his own thick length and slid to the base.

Optics glued to the plump head that disappeared in the red hand and pop back out, Drift exhaled harshly, realizing that his fans had halted.  His throat suddenly felt very dry and his spark beat furiously fast in his chest.  He glanced up quickly and found Ratchet watching him with a most naughty look.

Gaze never leaving his, Ratchet let his optic lids droop and moaned softly, arching his back in a wanton show of sensuality. “Oh, Drift…” He whispered and sucked two of his fingers back into his mouth.  The hand on his spike glided up and down while a flush began to glow on his face.  “Yes, watch me.”

It was more erotic than any of Drift's wildest fantasies.

He wanted to touch...  No, he _needed_ to touch him.  Oh, Ratchet was killing him.  Processor nearly stalling, he glanced back down to the alluring spike peeking from the circle of Ratchet’s palm, and his mouth just watered from the overwhelming need to overload him into stasis with his glossa.  Show him just what Drift had learned in Rodion and had spent millennia mastering.

Spreading his partner’s legs and kneeling between them, Drift surprised Ratchet into letting go of his spike just long enough for him to bend forward and draw it into his mouth.  His cry of stunned pleasure spurred him on.  He sucked on the ample tip and bobbed his head in short pulses, feeling Ratchet twitch and gasp under him.  Oh, Primus!  Was everything about his medic designed to drive him mad with desire?

Drift loved this spike, its texture and the way it stretched his mouth.   _This_ was what he missed when Ratchet overloaded instantly back in the office.  Not that he was complaining!  Far from it.  It was the greatest compliment anyone had ever paid him.

He traced each ridge with the tip of his glossa and adored the way Ratchet’s EM field flared wildly with desire and eagerness.  He looked up to greedily watch the effect he had on his medic and sucked down.  He couldn’t believe how quickly Ratchet got revved up.

“A-ah-aaah! Drift!”  The medic managed to cry out haltingly, one of his hand slapping the berth to grab the sheets while the other covered his face.  The embarrassed blush that deepened his cheeks was just too adorable.

Drift slid his length out to swirl his glossa around the head a few times, loving the gasps that graced his audials, before taking him back in his mouth, purring in enjoyment at the taste of his medic.

Dropping his helm back, the older mech let out a strangled staticky cry, his EM field a jumble of excitement, want, and arousal, pelvis twitching with effort from not thrusting into Drift’s talented mouth.  Primus, how he loved Ratchet's reactions!

A hand came to rest on his helm, the fingers gently caressing his crest.  Drift took his time savoring every whimper and twinge that Ratchet made, drawing out the ecstasy that thrummed through that powerful frame.  His fingers stroked pelvic seams, finding delicate wiring hidden behind, before slipping down to circle the swollen anterior node.

“D-Drift! Oh frag!”

Glancing up, he found his partner watching his mouth intently with over-bright optic.   _Oh, Ratchet. Let me take care of you._   Holding his gaze, Drift smiled around Ratchet's spike in a wicked grin that showed his sharp fangs, and when his medic whimpered, he slowly sucked him deep into his mouth and throat until his nasal ridge bumped against the red pelvic armor, sporadically hollowing his cheeks as he went down.  His free hand running over Ratchet's thigh and hip, feeling his joints tense and his entire frame tremble, Drift drew him in and out slowly bringing him right to the edge of overload before backing down.

The hand that held the sheets creaked from gripping them so hard.  Drift glanced up again to admire the handsome mech squirming on the berth with his armor flared wide open to expel maximum heat and his biolights blinking in a frenzied lightshow.

He began to slowly suck down again, when the gentle hand on his helm drew his attention.  “N-no, Drift, n-not yet. You can have me any way you want, but I don’t want to overload without you.”

How could he resist such an invitation?  Bracing his hands on the berth, Drift gracefully swung his legs astride those red hips, enjoying the admiration that danced in Ratchet's optics.  Feeling nervous, he leaned forward to capture those delectable lips in a deep kiss.  A hand came to rest on one of a red thigh and caressed the glossy finish, while the other traced the inside of his leg up to the moisture that had smeared around his array.

A questing finger found his slick anterior node and rubbed teasing circles on it.  Never had Drift wanted to be spiked so fervently, even with the off-chance that he might not like it, his valve clenched, desperate and eager to be filled, while his spark thudded loudly in his lines with excitement and uneasiness.

Ratchet rubbed the tip of his spike over the slick lubricant, drawing a static sound from him, before pressing in.

 _Ohhh… What… Oh, that felt really good… But how?_ His calipers stretched and fluttered excitedly, and Drift stopped asking questions and just enjoyed the feeling of Ratchet’s thick spike sliding in deeper.

He couldn't help it and felt his mouth curve into a smile.  This was just so wonderful.  Onlining his optics – when had he shut them off? – he saw Ratchet watching him with that odd expression again. Was that awe or surprise?

When he was finally hilted, Drift couldn't stop the delicious tingles that started from his valve and continued up his spine.  Oh, such fullness! And miraculously without pain. Was such a thing possible for him?

Drift watched his medic and didn't care that his joy and love showed freely on his faceplates.  He wouldn't be able to it hide from Ratchet, not when the medic’s own EM field also swelled with warmth and affection.

Ratchet didn't move and just gave him time to get accustomed to being filled.  Maybe somehow he had guessed that this was Drift's first spike in millennia.  If he hadn't, he was being uncharacteristically patient waiting for the speedster to be done enjoying the new feeling before riding them both to ecstasy.

Drift ran his hands over his own chest plating up his throat, following the exquisite shivers, before stretching and feeling the absolute bliss of having his valve so snuggly stuffed with a spike.  Under him, Ratchet avidly devoured his display of wonder with bright optics.

“Frag, you're gorgeous in pleasure, Drift.” Tone low and laced with static, Ratchet ran his hands up shapely thighs to stop at the narrow waist.  “Is this better than your fantasies?” His sentence ended in a groan when the speedster wiggled, testing the stretch.

Feeling emboldened, Drift cast him a roguish smile and began to move.

The first slide up, he almost went too far and had Ratchet stop him before they inadvertently separated.  The way back down was a heavenly repeat of when Drift first sank down on Ratchet’s spike.  It sent new tingles into his frame, all the way to his fingertips.   _Oh, I need to do that again._

Trembling, the speedster watched his medic's optics soften and mouth curve upward.  “Oh yes, Drift.  It should always be this good.”

Ah, so he had guessed about Drift's sexual preferences.  Well he was in for a surprise.

He set a slow rhythm at first, savoring the way Ratchet's spike slid easily.  Never in all his functioning did it feel so wonderfully good.  He braced this hands on Ratchet's windshield and spread his fingers to trace the seams at the edge.  He loved the way his medic trembled under him, and how their energy fields intertwined.  It was so intimate.

Drift slowly slid all the way up, optics never leaving Ratchet's, loving the way his hands tightened ever so slightly around his striped plating.  With just the tip inside, he cycled down the first two rows of calipers, massaging just the head, reveling in the way that Ratchet thrusted up.

The rolling of the calipers followed the head of the thick spike back deep into his valve.  Ratchet arched and cried out brokenly.

Drift continued to knead the tip of the spike with his innermost calipers.  He could overload a mech just by spiraling his valve, without ever having to move.  What he hadn't anticipated was how good it would feel for himself.

Sliding up to the tip again, he let his calipers suck the spike back in, paying special attention to the sensitive underside of the head.  The way his valve fluttered around the heavy length translated into tantalizing shivers through his own frame, a feeling that was very new to the swordsmech.

An inkling of hope kindled that he may actually experience his first valve overload while interfacing with Ratchet today.  The thought faded away however when Ratchet suddenly gripped his waist to stop the speedster from moving.

Arching a brow and smirking down at him, Drift continued rippling his calipers around his spike.  He wanted desperately to see Ratchet wild and undone as he overload under him, transfluid spilling hot inside him as he shouted his name in that sexy staticky voice.  Ratchet turned his head to one side and bucked up into him, optics off and mouth slack.

Drift wanted nothing but his partner’s pleasure… “Ahhh!” He cried out suddenly, unable to complete the thought.  What was that he was feeling in his valve? He curled himself forward and gripped fast onto Ratchet’s pauldrons.

Stunned, he watched his medic’s optics come online and focus on him.  His spark stuttered at the sight of Ratchet's face transmuting into an expression of pure satisfied smugness.

“Do you like that, Drift? Have you ever used a vibrating false spike in your valve before?” He murmured softly into Drift’s audials.

Drift managed to shake his head, talking was impossible.  His optical field blurred with static.  Oh, Primus! Did Ratchet mean that his _spike_ was vibrating inside him right now?

The swordsmech keened when he was lifted up, only to have Ratchet thrust back into him. The vibrations didn't stop, and Drift could feel the entire length inside as it lit all his nodes in its path.  His valve clutched the heavy spike heartily, loving how hard and thick it was, stretching it so perfectly.

It was too much. His hands blindly clawed at Ratchet’s chest, his frame twisted from side to side.  He couldn't take it anymore but he also wanted more.  His vents couldn't cycle fast enough to dispel the heat in his lines.  He was going to burst in flames.  “R-Ratchet..” Charge crackled all over his armor as he shook all over failing to retain control.

“So gorgeous.” His hands were captured in Ratchet’s, compelling him to look down.  “It's ok, Drift.  I got you.” He soothed, thumbs caressing the swordsmech’s knuckles.  “I'll help you let go.”

One of Ratchet's hand came up to his face in a sweet gesture of affection.  There was a small transformation sequence in Rachet’s array.  Drift felt the small plates move and something soft pressing forward to mold against his anterior node.

And it started to vibrate.

 _Oh, Primus!!_ was Drift's last thought before he was hurled into overload.  His entire frame seized as ecstasy flashed through his lines like lightning, seizing all thought processes.  Light and electricity dazzled behind his optics in rapture so strong, he thought he'd expire from it. The spike filling his valve only heightened each rhythmic ripple.  His energy field flared wide and bright in the greatest climax of his entire functioning.

“Oh, yes, Drift!”

His hands clutched at his beloved medic as he sobbed his name over and over.

When the storm began to abate, Ratchet started a low vibration mode in his spike to counter Drift’s processor reboot.  He kissed the speedster tenderly on a finial flare and smoothed his hands over the overheated dorsal plating, holding him through each glorious aftershock.

It was unbelievable.  The swordsmech didn't even think he was capable of overloading while being spiked. Drift turned his helm to lazily catch one of the kisses with his mouth.   “That was amazing, Ratch.” Despite being overly hot, he loved the touch on his plating.

The hands traveled down to his aft and ground him down onto the hard length still filling his valve, provoking a loud gasp from the worn out speedster.  The vibrations kicked up a notch, and Ratchet began to languidly thrust inside him.

Drift, who had thought himself completely spent, felt his charge rise again with each slick stroke.  How could he be wanting it again so soon? Optics off, he savored the way his calipers yielded to Ratchet, as if he was made just for him.  Oh, Primus, it felt so good.  He tilted his helm back and mewled lowly before looking back at Ratchet in awe.

“I’m not done yet, sweetspark.”

The older mech’s lips curved mischievously in a smirk that would always instantaneously arouse the swordsmech.  Drift was positive that Ratchet had imprinted himself on him. And as if to prove his theory, his valve clenched suddenly drawing a sharp rasp from him.   And that spike! He could easily get addicted to it.

Ratchet’s hands caressed his aft restlessly.  “Did you like the vibrating mods, hmm? How about this one?”

Drift arched his back suddenly, crying out raggedly.  Oh, sweet Primus! What was Ratchet doing to his valve? Drift’s hips moved on their own, as sensations took priority in his processes.  “R-Ratchet…” He struggled to keep his optics online.

“Yes, Drift.  Feels good, right?” The medic hands gripped the speedster’s sleek thighs while Ratchet shuttered his optics and hummed lowly.  “It’s good - _ngh!_ \- for me too!”

“Your, your s-spike… It’s, it’s…” Speaking was such a difficult task.  “It’s moving!” How was it possible for Ratchet to have such mods?

Ratchet aimed his gaze back at him.  “You’ve asked me if I’ve thought about touching you.  This is how I’ve thought about touching you.” He curved his back and purred lowly, a picture of perfect erotic enjoyment.

The remarkable spike wiggled in his valve, finding all his nodes, rubbing again and again on that sensitive spot on the front wall and the ceiling node deep within.  I t felt absolutely incredible.  The way it coiled was how he imagined receiving oral would feel like.  Maybe one day Ratchet would indulge him.

His optics widened when the pattern changed into tighter waves.  How flexible was his spike?

“Oh yes, Drift, and I’ve thought about overloading you on my spike over and over and over, until you can’t move.” He punctuated each time he said the word “over” with a sharp thrust, delighting in the way Drift convulsed and cried out.

The speedster held onto the sides of Ratchet’s windshield, as his world tilted on its axis.  How was his valve so responsive? Was it because they had prepared it well? Or was it because it was Ratchet? His calipers fluttered madly when the wriggling spike was sheathed inside him again.   How could anything feel this good?

He heard someone moan Ratchet’s name.  Was that himself? It didn’t matter, all he wanted was more of the irresistible sliding of the twisting length.  His hips rolled in time to receive the spike deep, while his valve clenched as if to keep it from escaping.   _Oh yes! More! Don’t stop!_

“Yes, just like that.” Ratchet hissed and griped Drift’s hips tighter.  “ _Ngh!!_ So good!”

The thrusts became more erratic, and Drift remembered to online his optics to watch Ratchet. Primus, he was magnificent with his mouth curved in a smile as if he loved what they were doing together.  His biolights dazzled the speedster with their frenetic iridescence.  
Spark pounding, Drift realized that Ratchet too was close to climax, something that he definitely did not want to miss. Arduously, he redirected a few processes to keep his optics online.

Drift whimpered when a hand curled around his bobbing spike, caressing it slowly.  Ratchet’s other hand went around and cupped his aft, fingers slipping between thighs to bracket the speedster’s entrance, highlighting how widely spread his valve was.

Ratchet gazed up at Drift with lidded optics, charge running rampant in his lines, and guided him up and down his length while stroking the speedster's striped spike.

The younger mech could do nothing but keen and gasp.  It was too much.  It was maddening, it was sublime.  He never wanted it to end.  The speedster squirmed relishing the way his calipers rhythmically clenched the incredibly thick spike. Static prickled all over his sensitized plating and his spark felt too big in his chest.  Overload was imminent. His vision glitched from his struggles to keep it online.

"I know you want to watch me...  Don't worry about watching, sweetspark, just feel me."

Unable to resist, the speedster tipped his helm back and surrendered to the euphoria.   _Oh, Ratchet!  Oh, Primus!  Ratchet!_

Ratchet’s length swelled, ripe with charge.  And Drift overloaded on the thickening spike, wailing his love’s name until his vocalizer glitched.  His energy field flared wide and bright with love so intense, Drift couldn't hold it in.  Current pulsed in enthralling waves, flashing from his frame to Ratchet’s, in an absolutely glorious climax.  He felt Ratchet join him moments later, hilting himself as his transfluid spilled hot inside Drift, and hugging him tightly.  “Oh, _Drift!_ ”  His voice rough and sexy.  Ah, this was heaven.

Drift collapsed, limbs gone strutless, into Ratchet’s warm embrace.  Venting harshly onto the pillow beside Ratchet's helm, he felt incredibly light and completely blown away.  Wow, just wow.  Never in a million vorns would he have guess that interfacing with Ratchet would be so explosive.  He squeezed his partner affectionately.

Ratchet pressed kisses into his neck cabling and startled him by chuckling.  Confused, Drift pushed himself onto his forearms, but was pulled right back into the rumbling chest.

He lay there stiffly only for another moment before joining in the giggling.  The giddy joy and glee in Ratchet's warm energy field were infectious.   _Oh, how he loved his medic!_ he thought again and snuggled in closer, nuzzling his neck.  Was this how happiness felt?

Ratchet seemed reluctant to let him go, so he contentedly stayed in his arms, listening to their fans spin and their armors ping as they cooled down.  Drift loved the sound of his beloved medic’s spark thrumming beneath him.  It felt so right.

This whole morning had been like a dream.  Unbelievable and marvellous.  His spark swelled with so much love, he wasn't sure there was enough space in his chest to contain it all.

Drift said a quick thank-you to Primus for blessing him with such good fortune. This sort of thing never happened to him.  And if his time with Ratchet was limited to only a short period, then he would cherish every moment they shared together.

He was probably crushing Ratchet by now and should get off him, but those hands were petting his back plating and that happy field settled around him like a blanket.  Drift was so comfortable and so warm.  Maybe just a few more minutes.

He listened to Ratchet’s purring engine and slipped into recharge.

 

* * *

 

  
Drift stretched languorously, processor booting up slowly, scanning his memory.  When was the last time he had a good shut down? The swordsmech honestly couldn't remember the last time he felt so relaxed and repleted.

He noted objectively that his scanners were also offline, the ones that he always kept idle, in case danger came to him while he lightly recharged.  It was an old habit that had been proven unnecessary for many vorns now.

Relaxing back on the berth – and against a warm frame – he finally noticed his field intertwined with one that thickly cocooned him in safety, affection, hope, and a twinge of fear.

Who? His processor finished scanning his most recent memories and Drift jolted fully alert.

The whole night came rushing back to him.  His finding Ratchet in his office, fragging him on his desk, – oh, that had been amazing! Ratchet in ecstasy was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen – going back to his habsuite, climbing on top of Ratchet, sinking onto his incredible spike, and oh my… The multiple overloads...  And the from his valve no less! How was he able to do all of those? Wasn't he supposed to blow Ratchet's circuits and not the other way around?

The swordsmech’s faceplates began to heat up.  Sound bits were loaded in with the visual files.  He heard himself moan Ratchet’s name in abandon and scream static as he overloaded.

And how he loved to overload from his valve.  Dear Primus, he wanted to do it again.  Soon.

What a phenomenal lover Ratchet turned out to be! He would have loved him no less if he wasn't but this was definitely a bonus.  His spark swelled at the thought of his beloved medic before he remembered his cardinal rule about interfacing:  Never overstay your welcome. 

And what did Drift do? He had recharged – he read his internal chronometer – almost two hours in Ratchet’s berth.  That's longer than any of his post-interface stays.  He didn't want to leave the warmth of Ratchet’s arms but he also didn't want to ruin everything by making things awkward.

Ratchet had to be anxious for Drift to go and have his habsuite all to himself again.  Although his softly thrumming engine and warm field _did_ suggest otherwise.

Better be safe than sorry.  Drift began to extract himself from the tender embrace but was pulled right back against Ratchet, banded by strong arms.  He hadn't even realized how strong the medic was until tonight.

“I know what you're thinking, Drift.” The voice growled beside his audial flare.  “I'm scared too, but don't you dare run.  If you do, I will chase you... and sweetspark, that's a waste of time and energy we could be using to make love again.”

Drift’s helm twisted to face Ratchet with wide optics.   Ratchet wanted to do it again? Really? When? Now? His spike pushed ardently against his closed panel, in tandem with the heat and moisture that gathered between his thighs.

His bewilderment and eagerness must have shown in his field because Ratchet’s features softened.  Drift tried to piece together a witty reply but only managed to sputter.

“I wanted to show you more of my mods.  I'm sorry I couldn't hold out longer.”

Wait.  Ratchet had _more_ mods on his spike? “What are you...? How…” He took a deep steadying breath.  “Why do you have a modded out spike like a porn star?” The medic burst out laughing but Drift plowed on.  “I'm not even sure porn stars have mods on their spikes.  It's got to be an urban legend.  And if they did, I don't think they have… How many _do_ you have?”

Ratchet curled forward and held his middle as he laughed.

Drift’s brow quirked at the sight of the laughing medic, liking what he saw.  “I'm pretty sure they don't have as many as you do.  So what are you? Should I start calling you Dr. Porn Star?” He couldn't stop his mouth from stretching into a grin.

When Ratchet finally regained his composure, he rolled on top of the aerodynamic speedster, hands caressing curves that he had confessed to admire.  “What I was – am – is a hedonist.” He leaned down to kiss his throat.

Drift inhaled sharply as those talented fingers brushed across the biolights beside his chest plate, sending his charge steadily climbing.  And with a pulse from Ratchet's lust-ridden energy field, his panels slip open without a protest.  He was already so wet.

Sighing softly, Drift wondered when had he ever been so easily aroused? So desired? Being with Ratchet just felt so right.

The voice beside his finial purred, sending delicious tremors down his spinal strut.  “Would you like that, Drift? See how many different ways you can come on my spike?”

Drift's legs automatically spread at that tone. But as delectably sinful as that sounded, it didn't compare to what he had in mind.  Hooking his legs around that attractively strong waist, he rolled Ratchet onto his back and pinned those talented hands above his helm, enjoying the flare of surprise in the medic’s optics.

“You're a hedonist, hmm?  Then how about you let me make you feel good this time?”  He flashed his predatory smile that muddled Ratchet’s field and kissed him zealously on the mouth.


	4. Epilogue: Catch My Breath

Drift was late. Rodimus sat at their usual table and mech-watched while he waited. His spark brightened in interest at the sight of Ultra Magnus’ tall and bulky frame entering the common room. The captain swung his feet up on the table to feign nonchalance and discretely admired the way his second in command walked to the energon dispenser gracefully avoiding the mechs congregating closeby.

His optics followed those sexy hips swaying in motion with the attractive aft. Rodimus had to override his fans from clicking on when Ultra Magnus curled a large hand around a cube. He couldn't help imagining how it would feel to have those powerful hands stroke up and down his frame, cupping him amorously in intimate places.

It was a silly fantasy, really, one that Rodimus would not indulge in real life. Ultra Magnus was untouchable, and in all his time knowing him, Rodimus had never seen or heard of the enforcer having a lover. He also valued their friendship too much to risk it. No matter how many nights he had spent self-servicing, pretending that Magnus was in his berth.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Rodimus saw that First Aid had stopped to chat with the enforcer. His fuel pump skipped a beat when Magnus turned his gaze towards the captain while the young medic was still speaking with him.

Did First Aid just tell on him? Wait, what did he even do? Never mind that. Rodimus flashed his most charming smile and cockily saluted him with two fingers.

The big mech’s optics widened in surprise and turned back to his conversation.

That was unexpected. No signature scowl of disapproval.

Rodimus checked his chronometer again. Drift was fifteen minutes late now. What was keeping him? He was never late. Unless… he got lucky last night. Glee rushed through Rodimus’ systems as he anticipated the wild stories, and deflated just as quickly when he remembered that the speedster had never been late before, even after a night of outrageous debauchery. Should he be worried?

At the next table, Ambulon spoke to an approaching First Aid. “Lancet just called me to say that Ratchet's late. Have you heard from him?”

The medic sat down giggling mischievously.

Both Ratchet and Drift were late? It had to be a coincidence. There was no fragging way that they were together this morning after their shift.

Rodimus never understood what attracted his best friend to the old mech, but he did know that he had carried the torch for him for millennia. Sometimes he'd be an aft and ribbed Drift over it, mostly in good humor. He tried to be not too disrespectful, but basically he just didn't understand why someone as hot as Drift would be interested in a grumpy old mech.

Who would probably faint if Drift tried any of his processor-blowing interfacing tricks! Hah! Rodimus had to contain himself from laughing out loud, shoulders quaking with effort.

Giggling from the medics’ table lended an apt soundtrack to his silent act, which only served to add to the flamboyant mech's mirth.

“Will you focus, Aid? Lancet said he couldn't get an answer from Ratchet all afternoon. You think something happened?”

“Oh yes, something happened all right, my dear Dr. Leg. Something real nice… maybe in the form of a speedster.”

“You're not making any sense, Aid.”

“Oh, speak of the devil! I just got a message from Drift.” More giggling ensued. “‘Thank you, Aid, for the encouragement. I couldn't be happier right now.’ Oh, how nice! He wants to buy me a drink.”

No fragging way! Rodimus dropped his feet to the ground and sat ramrod straight in disbelief. Optics wide, he twisted around to look at First Aid but the doors swooshed open and admitted his buddy.

Drift floated – floated! – to their table forgetting to pass by the energon dispenser completely. His mouth stretched in a goofy grin as he approached. He waved at the medics’ table and sat down with a content sigh. “Hey Roddy! Sorry, I'm late.”

Rodimus finally snapped his jaw shut and found his voice. “Well? You gonna tell me all about it?” There was no way he and Ratchet did the dirty last night. Something else must have happened.

He watched his normally shameless best friend, who never held back any smutty details of his berthroom escapades, flush all the way to the tips of his finials.

The doors swooshed open again and in came Ratchet. Was it just Rodimus or did the CMO appeared… energized?

“Hey Ratchet! Had a good night?” The junior medic sounded way too happy, Rodimus thought.

Ratchet flipped him off and poured two cubes.

“You're welcome!” First Aid cackled bright and loud, startling Ambulon into choking on his energon.

Laughter erupted at the boisterous display between the medics.

Rodimus whipped his head back around and watched Drift turn even brighter pink and intently inspected the table surface with a coy smile. His field flickered with embarrassed happiness.

No. Fragging. Way. Rodimus slammed his hands down on the table in one last attempt at denial, and drew everyone’s attention with the loud noise. Energon from his drink sloshed over the rim while all optics watched the blushing Third in Command turn even pinker, if possible. His friend’s field suddenly withdrew and his plating flattened down defensively, and he looked like he was about to bolt. Slag, Rodimus better come up with something quick.

Someone, probably Whirl, yelled out, “Yeah, right! The Hatchet would never hit that!”

“Shut up or _you're_ gonna get hit! In the face… Er, optic!”

The whole room burst out laughing even louder, while Ratchet calmly drained his fuel. He tossed the container and made his way to the two speedsters’ table.

Silence fell on the room, broken by intermittent giggles from the junior medic.

Ratchet deposited a cube in front of the swordsmech, grabbed him by the shoulders, and swooped down to catch his lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

Chaos broke out in the common room as fans stalled and optics glitched. Jaws dropped so low, the mechs might have unhinged them. Energon sprayed out. Chair legs screeched against the floor. Choking and coughing could be heard over the collective riotous clamor of everyone speaking over each other.

Shock locked Rodimus in place. He watched with morbid fascination as Ratchet pulled his buddy up and smoothed his hands to those glossy rounded hips to pull their pelvic armor flush together. Hearing Drift moan made his own cheeks flush but he couldn’t avert his optics.

When the heated kiss finally ended, Ratchet whispered something to Drift and turned to leave. The older mech yelped when the swordsmech mischievously pinched his aft before he was out of reach.

“NO. FRAGGING. WAY!!” Rodimus finally yelled out loud, knocking over his chair from standing up too quickly.

At the doorway, Ratchet tossed over his shoulder, “More like every fragging way.”

Pandemonium escalated to deafening levels, and First Aid looked straight at Rodimus and commed him.

“You’re next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *puts up "We've Accomplished Something" banner*
> 
> Show of hands: Who likes meddling matchmaker First Aid? 
> 
> Thanks for sticking around until the end! This newbie is forever grateful for all your encouragement.  
> Also GIANT hugs for [SlimReaper](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper) for all the pompom-waving. I would have never made it to the end without her.
> 
> Hugs and kisses to all!


End file.
